Page 76 of Secret Pucking Unicorn

“Here, have a jersey,” she says.

I unfold it, expecting it to have Carter on the back, because that’s what Sophie is pulling over her head. Instead, I see it has the name Mackenzie on the back. I gasp. Tears sting my eyes as I trace my fingers over the white letters. The tidy black stitches holding them on and adding contrast. I’ve always dreamed of being able to claim this name as my own. Goosebumps break out all over having nothing to do with the chill of the arena.

“How did he get this?” I ask once I manage to dislodge the lump in my throat. My heart is breaking Declan isn’t here to wear his jersey with pride on the ice. I wish it was him giving this to me as a form of claiming and not Carter giving it to me as a form of consolation.

Sophie shrugs.

“They had already made Declan’s jerseys before he was injured. When Trevor heard they were going to bin them, he got them to give them to him to give to me. But we both decided you’re the one who should wear it.”

Tears prick my eyes as I pull it on over the Devil Birds long sleeve tee I’m already wearing. Since it’s sized for Declan to wear with all his pads, it’s huge on me. I could probably add a belt and wear it as a dress. Sophie looks the same in her Carter jersey until she pulls a hair tie out of her purse and uses it to bunch up the excess material of the shirt at her hip in a cute, fashionable way. It always amazes me how people can style their outfits like that. If I tried, it would look like I had an apple attached to my hip. Better to let the shirt hang. It’s big enough, I could wear it as a nightgown. If I don’t have Declan to hold me, this jersey will have to do.

Brick wins the goalie competition by stopping the most goals in a row. I use my thumb and forefinger to whistle, and it makes Sophie jump.

“What the hell was that?” she asks.

I shrug. “Dec taught me when we were kids. The horses would come over when I did it.”

Bedard is the champion of the hardest slap shot event and Carter is crowned the fastest skater. I love seeing my friends do well. I’m sharing high fives with Sophie, Mallory, Daphne, and also whatever fans are around us who are friendly. I celebrate when their players do well too. Not as much as when it’s a Devil Bird, of course, but we all love hockey here and celebrate everyone. I think the tea has left my system. I’m feeling like the real me again, finally.

Crosby comes in third for the puck handling obstacle course. The skater has to maneuver a puck through cones similar to an agility dog going through weave poles. After that, they launch the puck over an obstacle and then hit a target in the goal. Whoever completed the circuit the fastest won. Honestly, I was surprised Crosby placed as high as he did, but some of the skaters were overconfident and showboating, and fumbled the puck.

I wish Declan were here. He would have aced the target shooting. A teammate passes the puck to the shooter, who fires them at five targets set up in the goal. The fastest to break the targets is the victor. I’ve seen Dec do drills like this, and he’s like a machine gun. Ollie King of the Spokane Sasquatch won it, but I know it’s because Declan wasn’t here.

The actual All-Star Game will be tomorrow.

“It’s a shame Declan isn’t here,” Sophie says, “enjoying the festivities and getting the recognition he deserves. It isn’t fair.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” I say. “I hope his hand heals quickly and he can play the second half of the season, at least. And there’s always next year’s All-Star Game. I know this is the first of many years he’s named an All-Star.”

I know he’s my All-Star.

28

DECLAN

Stone and I are on the couch in the main area of our apartment with a bunch of our teammates waiting for the skills competition to start. Everyone is making predictions about who will win each event. Everyone is saying I would have been a lock to win the target event. That’s nice, but I’m sick of hearing about it. It’s bad enough my stupidity ruined this opportunity for me, but I’ll be in an entirely different state when, finally, the last remnants of the tea are out of Miranda’s system. If I’d not slammed my fist into a wall, if I’d controlled my temper, I’d be there right now, right beside her when she’s fully free from any of her mother’s remaining influence. I could give her a choice then, and pray she makes the one that will make my heart soar. Part of me would like to go lock myself up in my room and ignore the All-Star Game completely. But I resist showing my bitterness and unsportsmanlike conduct. I need to set a better example than that. What pisses me off is it’s my own damn fault I’m not there. It’s not like I got injured in a game or anything noble like that. No. I had to lose my temper and punch a wall like a jackass.

My phone vibrates in my pocket to signal an incoming text as I’m taking a swig of my beer. They are announcing the players taking part in the fastest skater competition and have announced Carter’s name. He waves to the crowd and points to the stands. The camera pans over, following his gesture, and my breath catches. Sophie and Miranda have prime seats right behind the bench where the players are hanging out between events. They’re both wearing jerseys for the Atlantic League team, and they have the Devil Birds patches on them.

“That’s cool they have them,” Stone says. “They’re huge. They must be player jerseys. I guess Carter loaned them his spares.”

I’m trying, but failing, to not be bitter I don’t get to wear my Mackenzie All-Star jersey. They probably threw them out or took off the nameplate when notified I wasn’t able to play. Does Crosby have what should have been my jersey?

Shrugging, I mumble something as I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone.

Daphne: Wish you were here.

Way to rub salt in the wound, I think. There’s a photo attachment. I tap to open it. It’s a shot from behind of Sophie and Miranda. Sophie is wearing Carter’s jersey. But what makes me catch my breath is seeing Mackenzie on the jersey Miranda is wearing. I don’t know how she got it, but it does funny things to my insides to see her with my name on her back. It triggers the primitive parts of me that want to claim her before the world as my mate.

My fingers fly over my screen as I quickly make the necessary arrangements. Draining my bottle of beer, I rise from the couch.

“Who wants to fly to Florida with me?” I ask the group in the room. A cheer goes up and Stone, along with another half dozen of my teammates, start getting stuff together for an impromptu trip to the Sunshine State.

* * *

I’m not the type to throw money around, but coming from an obnoxiously wealthy family is handy when you want to charter a plane to take you and some friends to Florida on extremely short notice to watch a hockey game. Being an heir to a hotel chain is an advantage too. We snagged a last-minute cancellation of a suite. Some of us who aren’t me are sleeping on air mattresses I had delivered. We’re shifters; we can rough it for a night in a luxury hotel.

Hell, I’d sleep on the sidewalk if it got me near Miranda. She’s here in this hotel and if it wasn’t almost midnight, I’d be trying to find her. Tomorrow morning will have to be soon enough. What’s one more night when the possibility of forever exists?

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